


Nobody Important

by I_am_a_Reflection



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_a_Reflection/pseuds/I_am_a_Reflection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian's plan to stop Ducard was unsuccessful. Years into the future, someone is causing chaos within Gotham, and Terry can't stop them alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ploy

**Author's Note:**

> Neither Batman nor Batman Beyond are owned by my person.  
> This is my first story in this fandom, brought on by only a vague confidence. Here’s hoping it turns out well. Constructive criticism is welcome, I need commentary to improve so, have at me I guess.

_“He’s a scared young boy, Master Bruce.”_

_“I think the problem is he’s not afraid of anything, Alfred.”_

_“That’s where you’re wrong, sir. Damian watched his father get beaten up before his eyes tonight. I saw the fear on his face while I stitched you up. I think for the first time he realized just how Human you truly are-- That you don’t wear an ‘S’ or a Green Ring, or ride a Sea Horse 20,000 leagues under the sea._  
_You’re fallible and no longer immortal-- Like a small part inside of that young boy that Talia didn’t destroy still believes himself to be. As you unfortunately know better than most, Bruce, each of us has a day when we realize for the first time that nothing lasts forever.”_  

* * *

 

Damian sighed at the beast that trailed him. “If you’re going to keep following me around, we should probably move past ‘dog’ at this point, hmm?” A big black nose touched his hand and a soft ‘rraf’ sound accompanied it. “Read any Shakespeare lately?” Another answering huff. “No, didn’t think so.” He kneeled a bit to hold the dog’s head. “I guess you’re going to see a lot of suturing and blood in that cave over the years… You look like a Titus to me.”

“Rraf” The Great Dane groaned lightly.

Damian smirked a bit. “Then Titus it is.” All too suddenly, the dog’s ears twitched to the property walls and he growled low. Damian lay a hand on his collar.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.” Six red eyes on a mask stared down at the two from the tree line. “I won’t hold back and I expect the same from you.”

The ten year old didn’t so much as blink. “I know who you are.”

“Then you know I can keep my promise, just like the one I made to you about not saying anything to your wonderful father about that brain dead creep in the alley. We both understand how he feels about going the extra mile in crime prevention. You have a lot to think about, Damian… Like whether you can live a life of lies.”

* * *

 

Bruce glanced sideways at Alfred from where he stood by the fireplace. “I’ve let my own son slip away…”

The butler watched as Damian’s drawings burned. “Poor boy, to have kept this level of rage in check for so long.”

“We’re getting him back, Alfred. I won’t let him down again.”

* * *

 

_“Not knowing where you are but knowing who you’re with is painful and frustrating… I’m recording this while I scour the city for you, hoping that some rock I turn over gives me a lead, points me in the right direction. I thought I might be able to say these things face-to-face, Damian, but the moment seems to keep escaping me—escaping us. I’m your father, you’re my son. My job is to love you and protect you. It’s simple, but somehow it keeps getting harder…”_

* * *

 

The gun clicked, but no shot fired. As he expected. Damian twisted and threw the empty weapon at Nobody. “I’m not here to play games, Ducard!”

He caught the gun with an audible crack against his glove. “Neither am I.”

“Then stop trying to manipulate me!”

“I had to see how committed you are. My doubts needed to be put to rest.”

Robin snarled. “And were they?!”

“Yes—So now we get this piece of garbage to my safe-house where we can find out more about his trafficking network.” Ducard pulled the ambassador into a strangle hold.

“What are you doing?”

“Remember that move I incapacitated you with in the alleyway?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “How could I forget?”

“Index and middle finger, the small space between the nose and the forehead. The bones of the cranium actually don’t fuse together completely by age two. They’re pliable your whole life.”

“But I might kill him and any information we have a chance of—”

“You can do it. I trust you.” Damian struck with careful precision and the ambassador went slack. “Perfect execution. He’s still breathing. For the moment.”

* * *

 

_“Feels like I’ve been holding my breath for hours, Damian.”_

Batman swung within sight of the recently deserted building. “Upload our mainframe tap to my cowl and give me a picture of the embassy cameras.”

“There are no signals.” Alfred reported. “All the cameras inside are malfunctioning.”

“I’m going in.”

_“There’s only one ten year old in Gotham who’d be in the vicinity at two in the morning, and it has to be you. You’re trail’s getting warmer, son…”_

* * *

 

“You’re dunking him in acid!” Things escalated pretty quickly. Damian clicked on the tracker in his emblem and made to slip around Ducard to save the ambassador.

Nobody knocked him back. “I don’t believe in fanfare or a signature style of crime fighting. I make the guilty disappear. That’s my calling card.” He activated his Sonics, and Damian felt his ears pop and then blood drip down the sides of his head. “It’s like they never existed at all. Just as you’re about to discovAurg!”

Damian’s grapple cut through Ducard’s side.

* * *

 

Batman raced down the bridge. “I’ve got a position lock on Damian, Alfred! The signal’s moving—Gotham Harbor!”

* * *

 

“So this was an elaborate scheme between the both of you to—”

“No, he didn’t know anything about what I was trying to do— our problems are real— I used them to help me sell you on bringing me closer… and you bought it.”

Nobody pulled him up by the collar of his hood. “I was setting you free! Why would you throw away all I had to offer?!”

“Why?” Damian glared up at him. “-TT- Because he’s my father you idiot."

* * *

 

The audio on the tracker sprang to life within the batmobile. “Hello Bruce…” Ducard taunted. “Your problem child was actually more of a good, little soldier than you thought. Seems he pulled the wool over your eyes and mine. I’d like to take full advantage of this G.P.S.’s capability to transmit sound, so listen closely…” He paused. “Because the next noises you hear will be your son breaking.”

A new voice shattered the temporary silence. “Agghhh!”

Bruce snapped. “Damian!”

* * *

 

A sick cracking sound rang out, followed by more screams. “And that was the sound of your son’s fingers fracturing.” Nobody pressed his glove up near Damian’s ears. “Did you know a ten year old’s inner ear is more susceptible to high frequencies than an adult’s? Seems my Sonics are taking the fight right out of him, Bruce.” 

* * *

 

The batmobile slammed through the bridge barrier and into the bay. The sound crackled through again, Ducard’s voice wavering between rage and glee. “I’m going to leave him broken and bloody, just like you left me that day in England, Bruce. You’ll see that everything you taught him just didn’t measure up. In the end, he’ll be a disappointment.”

The car jettisoned upwards through the surf. The onboard computer updating as it went. “Collision imminent. Brace for impact in four seconds… three seconds…”

Metal burst inward and Bruce ejected from his seat. He turned to the sounds of his son’s cries.

They echoed from a transmission box on the floor. The Robin emblem sat next to it, carrying on the message.

“It’s been fun, Bruce. You won’t find me so easily, but by all means keep trying, he might even still be alive when you do.”

Bruce snatched up the transmitter. “Ducard, I swear to God I will make you pay for this!”

“Hmmm, I’d like to see you try. Say goodbye to your father, Damian.” There was a brief scraping of the speaker being moved and then a heavy gurgling sound, air sticking with each breath.

Between the choking gasps, he could barely make out his son’s voice. “F-Fath-”

A sharp crunch resounded and the transmission box went dead.

“Damian!”

* * *

 

_“If I’m going to be honest with you, Damian, I’ll need to be honest with myself. It’s not just the upbringing that your mother forced on you that made you who you are… I’m also to blame.”_


	2. New Player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Bruce’s thoughts in the story are because it takes place not too long after the episode, “Out of the Past”.

_“…I’m also to blame.”_ The recording paused. Bruce ran a hand through his grey hair and slumped back into his chair. The central computer glowed brightly in the dank atmosphere of the cave. A single window was open to keep tabs on Terry, but these days the teen didn’t need Bruce hovering over his shoulder as much. The vast majority of the screen had various clips of a young Robin and a smiling Batman.

Nearly twenty three years since its initial creation, Bruce had been playing his recording for Damian. That part specifically, a few too many times lately. He turned up the sound on a scene of the Dynamic Duo on patrol.

 _“…Not what I would have expected of him. I never really got to know him. I didn’t have enough time. And what little I did, I spent in anger— in pretending I didn’t care.”_ Damian confessed.

Dick gave an encouraging smile. _“Believe me I had plenty of time to know him and I’ve been through all that too. He’s changed a lot over the years and when he comes bac—”_

Bruce cleared the screen as the rumbling of the bat mobile echoed down the chamber, and the vehicle pulled up.

Ace stood with a short yawn and trotted over to the newest Batman as he climbed out of the car. “Hey, mutt.” He glanced up at Bruce. “Anything new, old man?”

“If by that you mean, am I more or less myself? Then yes, seems most if not all of my false youth has faded.” He got to his feet and set for the stairs. “Any trouble tonight?”

Terry pulled off his mask. “Pretty slow actually. Some Jokerz, some small robberies, and Spellbinder at one point, but I didn’t even have to do anything with him.”

Bruce stopped at the steps, and Ace joined him. “Explain.”

“I think I’d go so far as to say fate was on my side tonight.” His smile was just on the lighter side of sardonic. “I pursued him through a section of old Gotham, and a piece of brickwork came loose. Nailed him right between the shoulders, he went down, and I called the commissioner to make an ‘anonymous’ tip on his location. It was so unexpected I couldn’t help laughing.”

“Hm.” Bruce continued up the stairs.

“Wait, what does that mean?” The old man left the clock ajar. “I swear, every time.”

* * *

 

About ten minutes later Terry joined Bruce up in his study. He was rummaging around his medicines. “You know, one of these days, someone’s gonna call you out for being rude.”

“Someone already did, it didn’t stick.” He answered, dry swallowing a pill.

Terry side-eyed him as he leaned against the window. “Will I find out what’s up from you, or do I have to go snooping myself?”

Bruce leveled a stare at the portrait of his parents. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been broodier than usual, ever since we got back from New Cuba. You said you didn’t care about being young anymore, and you’re too stubborn to change your mind.”

“It has nothing to do with that.”

“So something is bothering you.”

“Why did Spellbinder run?” Bruce suddenly cut across.

Terry blinked. “What? I don’t know, he was already tearing down the streets when I caught sight of him.”

“He’s usually one to stay and try to fight you.”

“Maybe he just got tired of getting his butt handed to him.”

“Hn.” The old man rumbled.

“Seriously, again? I’m going to need a bit more than that.” Terry crossed his arms.

“In my experience, if a criminal doesn’t stop running, it’s because he’s afraid for his life.”

Terry smirked. “Well you are pretty frightening, and Batman’s kind of intimidating, too.”

“Until you consider that most criminals know Batman doesn’t kill. If they have a weapon they’ll typically use it.”

“In that case, a better working theory would be he hadn’t built himself a new device yet.”

“I suppose.” Bruce hefted himself once more from his desk. “Head home and get some rest, Terry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The young Batman swung his bag over his shoulder. “Can do. I haven’t forgotten our other discussion though, Wayne.” He slipped by the man and down towards the front door. “I’ll find out one way or another!”

* * *

 

“Hello, Bruce.” A feminine voice crackled through the phone. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

“Terry said Spellbinder was recaptured today. Well done.”

“Very funny. Did you want to come down and interrogate him?”

“Hasn’t been as much fun since I couldn’t hold them upside down. But if you wanted to give him a good shaking for me, I’d be fine with that.”

“Unfortunately for you, he’s being cooperative. What did Batman do to him?”

“Chased him through old Gotham. Apparently one of the buildings crumbled at just the right time. Fell and knocked him out as he ran by.”

“That explains the bruise on his back, now what happened to the rest of him?”

“He has other injuries?”

“Does he? His right wrist is broken, possibly happened when his ‘compelling eye’ was crushed, and he’s somehow obtained internal damage to his lungs.”

“What’s your theory?”

* * *

 

“We have a new player.” Barbra sighed. “Unless you’ve heard from Jason recently?”

“Not his style, and he’s off planet more often than not these days.”

“I remember once teasing him about slowing down with age, I’m sure he’s doing it to spite me.” She slipped off her glasses and wiped over them with a handkerchief habitually. “The questions up for debate now are: Who is hunting criminals and what side are they on?”

“I’m sure if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.” She could practically see Bruce’s challenging smile.

“As long as I share the discovery, right?” She replaced her glasses. “We know hundreds of people that can break a bone, Bruce. And I can’t begin to fathom what could simulate trauma wounds to the lungs with no outside trace.”

“Anything you can manage will help. I’ll have Terry look into it more.”

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

“Good night.”

* * *

 

“Terry!” Dana called from their usual table. Her demeanor was wonderfully cheerful and, once again, saintly patient. Terry abruptly felt a stab of guilt for his regular lateness. He carefully slipped his way around the crowd and sat next to her. “Rough night?

“Something like that. But everything’s good now, you have me all to yourself.” He slipped his hand in hers. “So, how’s the new campus?”

She leaned into him. “Tiresome, I kind of wish I went the computer route like Max.”

“Max is taking more than 7 classes, and I’m pretty sure she makes it a personal goal to intimidate the professors.”

Dana smiled at that. “All the more reason to try, they find out she’s our friend and we’d probably get A’s by proxy. Have you been by Gotham U, yet?”

Terry shifted sheepishly. “Still working on that one.”

* * *

 

Bruce moved carefully along the only dusted areas left of Wayne Manor. Ace trailing softly behind him. Never more in his life had he felt so isolated in such a large house. There had been a brief time, he was sure, when it appeared to the outside world that the mansion was abandoned in complete disrepair. And yet, if he concentrated, he could remember a Christmas time when every main room was occupied and loud enough to give him a headache.

Alfred had insisted. _“Master Bruce, if I must cook and bake until all of Gotham smells like gingerbread and cider, I will do it. All flying creatures of the night hone in when the promise of food is about.”_  He’d said it with such surety that it would have to come true.

Dick made it a personal mission to get Jason to arrive. It may have involved nets and then devolved into apologetic bribing with a side of guilt tripping, but he kept most of the details to himself.

The Red Hood didn’t slip in until dinner was mostly underway.

_“Presumably just to make a scene.”_

_“Damian.”_   Bruce chided.

But regardless, he did. Alfred set out a dish of one of Jason’s favorites and fondly directed him to his still unoccupied seat.

After some functionally awkward silence, Dick had exclaimed that he, at least, was going to eat despite all the emotionally stunted posturing. This was more than adequate at relieving the tension.

Tim was sneaking glances at his phone in between bites. And when she’d had enough, Stephanie slipped it from his pocket and turned it off. Red Robin was too shocked by the action to do much besides stare in over exaggerated betrayal.

Dick tried to get Damian to participate a bit more in the conversations, but to the barest success. His youngest was still coming to terms with the atmosphere of the whole holiday and really just being in the proximity of so many people without threat of attack.

Cassandra made it easier for all of them, speaking as best she could on subjects Damian had knowledge in, defusing arguments with light touches and soft ‘no’s, and giving easy smiles to whoever looked her way.

Bruce had to remind himself to eat, distracted as he was with everyone being together in relative peace. Feeling secure in his family all being home.

Shaking his head to sweep away the memory, Bruce told himself that it was more out of habit than anything else, that he found his path passing by the boys’ old rooms on his way to bed.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, from its position prowling Gotham’s greater skyline, a figure slowly scanned the unfamiliar divisions of the city. It covered its face. There was the sound of something clicking into place and a pained grunt as the character stood up. They moved to the edge of the laboratory roof, and let themselves fall.

The figure landed shakily on the next ledge over, gait unbalanced, but carried on. Over the vents, away from the lights, and through the roof access door of the Gotham Police building. Invisible and unheard. Two lefts, one right, an elevator ride to the lower levels. Some things never change.


	3. Undermine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody can really handle getting their mind messed with. Anyone that tells you otherwise is lying.

Improvements to overall competence non-withstanding, the Gotham Police didn’t keep a full staff on site at night. At least not in the sub-basement cells. From one such confinement, Ira Billings AKA Spellbinder was pacing. He’d been hoping for a bit more expedience to his transfer into a higher quality prison.

He made a bad choice. Obviously not the Supervillain one, he didn’t regret that, but he had bitten off more than he could chew. A deal of sorts, all very standard. Those of the city underbelly often partook of them, he was sought out by some unsteady fool in a black outfit and unsettling mask. Billings needed a part from a cyber-genetics lab and his new friend obliged.

The heist hadn’t even managed to alert the authorities, it was all very professional, but here’s where things went wrong. Spellbinder went back on his end of the bargain with interest. In his usual way he sought an on-call henchmen, with his abilities, such persons were easy to control and cut ties to. The thief snapped and beat him three-ways across the city, until batman showed up.

So now here they are, one police commissioner up in her office, one supervillain behind bars, five guards in the sub-basement, and one pissed off figure walking in and manufacturing an electrical fire without notice. In the ruckus it entered the space where Billings resided and dropped its cover, seemingly appearing from nowhere. A sheet of thick polycarbonate glass stood between them.

Spellbinder took the opportunity to press himself against the back wall. A heavily modified voice issued from the blue lensed mask. “Having fun?”

Ira pushed down the lump in his throat. “Plenty. Can I ask about the nature of this visit?”

“You know it.” The character rolled its neck stiffly. “I don’t take well to being rewired.” It turned toward the door and tilted its head, almost curiously, at the smoke trickling around and under the cracks.

“You’ve attacked me wildly and I’m sure to spend the rest of my days in prison.” He tried, following the figure’s gaze. “What did you do to get in here?”

The masked one ignored his pale attempts at misdirection. “Tell me, Billings. Did you know each lower cell has its own separate oxygen supply? It was initially created to keep lingering chemicals or spores from escaping into the corridor.” The person pivoted in place and walked over to a control panel on the outset of the cell. “These days they’re used for helping to treat injured criminals. How are your lungs doing, by the way?”

“Sore.” Ira hissed.

The thief ran a gloved hand along the input pad, paused as if thinking, and then punched in a code. The panel slid back, revealing a few switches and dials. “So, because they don’t always have to use these cells, the dedicated air supply can be cut off. This one,” It tapped the side of a faded red lever. “Does just that. Very painful way to die, asphyxiation, worse than drowning sometimes.”

Spellbinder stared in abject horror as the lever was pulled down.

The figure slipped out. “I can attest to that.”

* * *

 

 

Terry didn’t get to visit Dana at Gotham University the next day. Or really for the rest of the week. He first received an early morning call from Bruce that a fire had broken out at the G.P.D. It wasn’t until he arrived that either of them found out the rest.

He stood back with the crowds, playing civilian. Everyone had been cleared out so that the firefighters could scan for further incendiaries. Gordon stepped up next to him. “Preliminary reports indicate it was an electrical fire.”

Terry side-eyed her. “Anyone hurt?”

She tugged his jacket twice and then walked onto a quiet side street. He followed at a slight distance so as not to tip off the media circus by the building, and switched on his ear com so Bruce could hear.

They stopped at the mouth of an alley. “Someone sliced a few wires in the crime lab and from there it was spread using chemical accelerants.” She said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “First priority was the officers and low security prisoners. Ira Billings is dead.”

The newest Batman stared in shock. “Spellbinder? How did he-?”

“We found him an hour ago. We didn’t give the self-contained cells much thought because they’re further underground and have oxygen suppliers. The smoke didn’t kill him. Someone managed to bypass the security and shut down his air.”

“No footage?”

“Whoever did this thought of everything. They cut the feed to Billings’ cell and avoided every guard that would have been through.” Barbra rubbed along the bridge of her nose. “All this to get at one person. The damage to the building is going to make things difficult.”

* * *

 

  

Batman was beginning to see what she meant. Terry hadn’t really noticed just how much he relied on his partnership with the police. With the commissioner set back in resources and repair, the amount of the force on the streets was cut, and now he was mostly on his own. This was especially obvious in the larger portions of the city, where gang activity was increasing.

“Heads up on your left.” Bruce’s voice broke through his musings. He bent backwards in avoidance of a metal pipe and then tripped its wielder.

He twisted back to his feet and swung a kick at an assailant to his right. “Careful there, you almost hit me.”

A large, wooden mallet shattered against the back of the suit. Terry stumbled forward slightly, and once again thanked the enhancements in the fibers. Another Joker tossed a smile painted smoke bomb. “How’s this Bat-Freak!?”

White mist spun out and filled the alley. What began as short jabs by the hiding deviants soon erupted into reciprocating blows and dislocations from their target. The gang disbursed somewhat in the cloud.

Batman turned around the thick cover, and ran the short distance toward open air. He could hear the gang members reacting similarly, probably trying to make a getaway.

Terry barely broke through the mist in pursuit when a small beeping caught his attention. There, by his foot, was a little black pellet and at its top a rapidly blinking red light. He didn’t manage half a step before the bomb went off.

He was blasted harshly into a wall, somewhere between Bruce shouting and his ears ringing were several more bangs. Someone screamed. Prying himself up, he caught sight of the back of a darkly clad figure standing over the clown painted male that threw the smoke bomb. His previous assailant was face down and unmoving.

Whoever it was held out a hand without turning. High-frequency waves hit him like bullets and his vision started wavering. Terry lost consciousness when the skull splitting headache became too much.

* * *

 

  

Bruce had to come get him, he’d been told. After he woke up to Ace licking his face, Terry realized he had been stripped of his mask and laid out over a med table. Old man was still full of surprises it seemed.

The news he missed wasn’t great. Batman had failed, not only to stop a mass Jokerz riot, but also several deaths resulting from on-site detonations. And aside from that two officers on the other side of the city had been killed in conflict with Mad Stan.

Max had found traps in various locations of Gotham, set up with plenty of measures to prevent early activation or hacking into the programming. But, as an Oracle will, she’d anticipated and sidestepped. “Small miracles.” She said with a hesitant smile at Terry’s exhausted form. “But I can’t be sure those are the only caches.”

It must have been a long nap, he thought, there should be no way things could grow so chaotic so fast. Police sirens were a near constant since last week, but still nothing like the force they could spare before the fire.

“It’s a mess.” Bruce informed flatly.

* * *

 

  

“You know, I never asked, how much sleep did you get during your run?”

Terry stumbled past him. Three weeks of stress and two days of little rest taking its toll. He tugged the suit back on, and grabbed a sandwich he’d made earlier for a few bites. Ace jumped lightly around him for anything that dropped.

“I had some help getting it. Others to take on patrol for me when Alfred demanded I get something resembling sleep. Nightwing and Batgirl.” Bruce cast a faraway look towards the display cases.

Terry noticed. “And Robin?”

“I tried to keep my partners close. Nightwing was good at getting himself out of trouble, and Batgirl would ask for back up before most risks in the field.” Bruce gave him a dry stare. “If you’re that tired after a little uproar, a sidekick is not the way to go about it.”

“You… You are seriously calling this a _little_ uproar?” Ace snatched what remained of his sandwich, and strolled back to Bruce’s side to enjoy his prize.

“I’ve had to save this city from widespread fear and Joker toxin on separate occasions. Be thankful the masses of innocent citizens aren’t trying anything along with the gangs.” He absentmindedly scratched at the dog’s ears.

And thus was the advantage of age, anything you might complain about, is nothing in comparison to what was dealt with by stoic brooding in the earlier generation.

A series of rapid beeps emitted from the computer. “Everyone decent? I’m calling in.” A mechanically altered, but clearly feminine voice chirped. The digital image of a green face clicked on screen.

“Oracle.” Bruce acknowledged.

“Batmen.” She replied. “I have some info on Spellbinder. The police identified an item that was confiscated from him before his capture.” A separate feed of specs unfolded beside her. They pictured a single slender tool with a shifting medical instrument on the thinner end. “Wayne tech design, for an all-purpose surgical device. Bio engineered to anticipate the body’s reactions and prevent bleeding or nerve damage. It contains nanitites that heal on a cellular level and can theoretically even send out electrical pulses to stimulate brain activity.” The window compressed away. “The cyber-genetics branch at W.E. cataloged it missing last night.”

“Not typically Billings’ MO, but I wouldn’t put anything that could influence the brain past him.” Terry noted.

“Unfortunately it was badly damaged when Spellbinder was beaten. And he didn’t get a hold of it personally.” Max pulled up some fuzzy footage. “An emergency security measure in case most of the power is lost to the labs.” She explained. A thin, black clad, but near transparent person ran past. Oracle paused the footage just as its hand was beginning to reflect the room around it.

Terry gasped. “The tech on his suit! It’s disappearing like mine does.”

Bruce’s eyes went wide. “That’s not possible.”

“Did they get your design?” Max asked.

“No, that wouldn’t be- I mean, the original idea was a relic from an old enemy. I modified it into Terry’s suit, but because it has to share power with his other gadgets it’s not feasible for long use.” The young Batman gaped.

“Who did you get this from? No one in your records wears anything like-” Bruce cut across him.

“But that doesn’t make sense. The person in that footage is too young. I-”

Max broke in on their debate. “Ladies! Sorry for the interruption, but Gotham P.D. just pinged on the distress board!”

Terry faced her. “What happened at the station?”

“No details. Satellite images show no activity outside, and no one is reporting issues insid— Scratch that, Gordon can’t get onto the roof… Someone’s fixed the Bat signal!”

“What?”

“Can you bring it up?” Bruce asked.

“Adjusting cameras.” The angle switched and pulled in close. “…Woah.”

Pasted against the clouds, was a familiar circle of light with the shadow of a bat. But a portion of the materials making up the body had been specifically broken away to give the impression of a slice across its throat.


	4. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after a hiatus from my home getting hit by a tornado. You know, the usual. Who wants to read some action narrative?

“Someone’s keen to take on the Batman.” Oracle said worriedly.

Terry stood quietly for a bit, taking in the declaration on screen. “Goes without saying.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it.” Bruce rumbled. “It’s a trap. They took the time to repair the signal, just to call you out. If you go out there, you’ll be giving them the advantage.”

“And if I don’t, they might try a more destructive way of getting me out of the cave.” The two Batmen stared each other down. “What would you have done?”

* * *

 

“We do this my way.” Bruce said over the com. “Draw him away from the police station. As far out of the way of civilians as you can manage.”

He could see the signal still burning from the G.C.P.D. as he flew, but no sign of a combatant. “He’s hiding.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Land by the signal. Don’t box yourself in.”

He dropped without a sound, and clicked off the signal. As instructed, he inched slowly to the middle of the roof.

“Be ready to move.”

“Well?” Terry asked the ‘empty’ space. “I know you’re still here.” He turned stiffly, eyeing the darker corners. “Something you want to say?”

A click resounded and he spun back to the signal. The light was on again.  A figure in black leant his side against it, a gloved finger still resting on the switch. “My message is clear.” It said. The voice, though disguised, registered as male. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet his successor, you haven’t been doing your job.”

“Really? And I suppose you’d know?”

“I make it my business to.”

Batman stepped forward. “And what’s your gimmick?”

He stood straight and swiveled to face Terry, six blue lenses staring from his mask. “ _I don’t believe in fanfare or a signature style._ I don’t play pretend.”

“Well, that’s boring.”

The man tapped his left gauntlet, and his suit began to shift and fade into the surroundings. “It’s not supposed to be fun.”

The lenses vanished last. “Listen for movement. When he gets close enough, dodge and run.” Bruce advised.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Auh!” Terry felt a concussive amount of force impact his face mere seconds following Bruce’s commentary. He dropped briefly to the ground and then, when he could react again, numbly adjusted his jaw.

He let himself be heard now. Scraping his feet with each step around Terry. “Get up.”

Terry gave a wide kick in the voice’s direction. A sound, not unlike flipping, broke out and came to a stop with a slide a short distance away. Bruce cut in. “Now!”

Batman ran for the ledge and jumped. His flight capability activated and he soared up, already jetting within view to the neighborhoods of Old Gotham.

* * *

 

His unseen opponent scowled at his fleeing back. It was just like him, to plan a tactical retreat. Expect a trap, set one in retaliation, and turn your enemy’s strategy on its head. 

But he needed no advantage. He’d taken none, and if he had to break this fool on home ground he would. Like that, he began his pursuit. 

* * *

 

“I think he took the bait.”

“Good. Stay high, don’t give him options. He’ll keep on the path you want if he thinks it’s the only shot he has.” 

* * *

 

_“Keep low, take risks if necessary, but never be predictable. If your opponent believes you conquered, than let him until his final moments.”_

* * *

 

“Almost there.” Terry banked hard to the right, past the Monarch Theater, and into what remained of the Narrows. 

* * *

 

_“Wait for the right opportunity, stay unflappable.”_

* * *

 

“Alright, you can start to descend, keep your guard up.”

“Are you sure he followed? Batman asked. The whited out eyes of his mask scanned the apparently deserted earth below.

“He’s been waiting for this, he’ll chase, especially since you probably made him angry.”

“Isn’t that worse for- ah?!” Terry felt a weight crash into and wrap his ankles. He barely got a glance at the ball and chain before he was pulled forward and down, _fast_.

When he tasted gravel he knew he was at least in the selected spot. The chain dropped with a clank. He heard footsteps, impossible to hide on the broken streets. He waited until he could see the loose pebbles part into imprints in front of him. Batman thumbed a pellet up from his suit, and threw it at where he expected the form.

Powder burst out in all directions and Terry gained a brief reprieve to untie his legs. When the cloud settled, a very fine layer of grey dust outlined his enemy.

The spiderlike mask came into solid view again, soon followed by the remainder of his suit as he methodically brushed off some of the powder. “And here I believed he was giving you more of a plan.”

Terry leapt back and tossed a batarang, pausing just long enough to catch the man off guard.

The darker figure dodged and Terry spun into a kick, impacting to his side and launching him into a roll to disperse the fall. He turned on Batman with his own high kick, and Terry bent backwards to clear it.

They fell into a pattern like this, for the most part only landing minor attacks. Terry being cautious and the other choreographing his style. The man swung over the hero’s punch, and held his hands out. Sonic waves emitted, knocking Terry flat, and the younger man was forced to cover his ears. The sound waves halted and a palm came down hard on Terry’s throat. He was dragged up and thrown before he could do more than claw at the grip.

Plaster crumbled under him as he hit an abandoned structure. “This isn’t doing much.” He groaned.

Bruce’s voice crackled on. “I had hoped rendering his cloaking tech useless might take him down a peg.”

“Didn’t seem to put him off as much as you thought. I think it was meant to psych me out at the start.”

“He’s fast, but he’s not unstoppable, make him sloppy.” The old man advised.

“So, piss him off?”

“Talk to him. Split his concentration.”

His opponent charged. Batman activated his flight wings and launched over his head. “Hey! You know I realized we haven’t been formally introduced.” He dodged a sonic blast.

“I already know your name.” The other replied snappishly. “But I only want to kill your occupation.” He swung an arm and the hero ducked.

Terry chose to believe the first bit was a pass to scare him. “Get in line, man. I’ve been at this for a while.” He dashed forward and aimed an elbow at the man’s temple. “I usually love the chance to name the bad guys, but you aren’t giving much to work with.”

The combatant turned his head and took the blow, surprising Terry and then nerve striking his chest. “Ask your boss!”

Batman’s body skidded across the gravel. “He doesn’t always tell me stories.” He gritted, fingers clenching the fabric on his torso.

“…Make. Him.” The growl was almost familiar. The man kneeled on his chest, bony leg increasing in pressure. “You know my name, so tell him.” He ordered, clearly addressing Bruce.

There was a deep breath from the other end of the com. “His name is Nobody.”

“Nobody?” Terry mumbled. “What?”

The so named man stood up, removing his weight. “Nobody. A non-entity. No identity, no attachments, no restrictions, just a mission.” He introduced, as if he’d repeated it many times in the past.

Terry coiled his body and sprung to standing. Quietly, he said “And here you claimed you didn’t have a gimmick.” Then he chuckled.

“Are you laughing?” The mechanized voice hissed.

Terry smirked at him. “Yeah, a little. It’s really just kind of ridiculous, you’ve defined yourself by a single-minded goal that has consumed you so totally that you don’t even have consciousness as a human being anymore. And, ‘Nobody’? Someone has some self-esteem issues...”

He could see his enemy’s breathing rate increase, becoming more and more audible as his words were processed.

“Seriously what got you so self-loathing?”

“Terry.” Bruce’s tone was warning.

“No love from mom and dad?”

“Bastard!” He was brought down to the dirt shortly thereafter. Nobody leaned his frame onto his upper body, gripped the sides of his head, and snarled. “I’m going to enjoy this far more than I should.” His sonics began to pulse.

Batman slugged his knee high, harshly tagging the man’s spine. In the moment of pained shock, Terry jerked his head up suddenly, smashing it into his opponent’s mask. Nobody was somersaulted backwards clutching his face.

He used the momentum and stood, turned opposite from Terry’s line of sight. His hand came away with shards of blue. He froze. His head tilted and his breathing evened out.

Batman pulled himself up. “What’s wrong? I break your mask? Let’s see, it’s probably an improvement!”

A pause. His arms went limp at his sides, the pieces of lens slipping to the earth. Nobody started walking off.

Terry’s eyes went wide. It was his turn to charge, running headlong at the man. “Where do you think you’re going?!” He threw a left hook at his enemy’s side.

The reaction was so smooth it could be fluid. With no sound, the man slanted himself to avoid the blow. His right hand locked an iron grip on Terry’s wrist and continued the forward pull, flipping him on his back and laying a foot on his shoulder. Then he stared. A single, terrifyingly dull, ice blue eye held his gaze as the body wrenched upward.

Terry actually screamed as his arm dislocated from its socket. 

* * *

 

Nobody had held his arm in place and let Terry’s own spasms exacerbate the burn.

Batman blacked out for a few minutes, but once he did wake up, he found he did so alone.

It was a long, slow progress back to the cave. Unable to reset his arm easily on his own, and doing everything he could to avoid jarring it. Bruce wasn’t commentating, and Terry didn’t try to talk. It was the calm before the storm. 

* * *

 

“Explain.” Terry demanded in cool imitation of Bruce’s voice the night of Spellbinder’s capture.

Ace whined from where he lay pressed against Terry on the medical stretcher. The dog sniffed his relocated arm gently.

The old man was hidden by the height of his chair, and the computer’s screen bathed the caverns in blue light. “It was a very long time ago. Before Batman, during my travels, I trained with a man named Henri Ducard and his son Morgan. I honed my abilities as a detective and studied their methods of combat. Suffice it to say, I came to realize that they weren’t just bounty hunters or the like.”

“Assassins?” Terry supplied.

Bruce grunted noncommittedly, as though not wishing to acknowledge that recognition. “I got away at no small sacrifice. I nearly killed Morgan and his father never forgave his failure.” He reached out and typed in a passcode. A hidden file opened and articles of unsolved deaths displayed. Lastly, among the pages, a picture. A figure in black with a six-eyed spiderlike mask. Taller, seemingly more muscular than the one Terry had been fighting, and the lenses glaring out were red. “Nobody. He reinvented himself and came to Gotham to start trouble. He killed criminals that we defeated. We confronted him, and… then he fled.”

The younger hero squinted in confusion. “He ran?”

Bruce nodded. “I tried to find him and I couldn’t. I thought he must have died.”

Terry leaned back against his pillow, beginning to feel the effects of his I.V. drip. “Then who’s using the persona these days?”

Bruce cleared the screen. “I couldn’t tell you.” He moved to leave.

His protégé blinked slowly. “What’ll happen now?”

“You’re going to heal up, and then I’ll handle it.”

If Terry took note of his words, he didn’t care to respond. Already drifting off to sleep.


	5. Guard Dog

“Terry!” Dana chimed, slipping her books under one arm and jogging towards him. “Finally decided to take an interest in higher learning?”

Her boyfriend turned from where he stood by the courtyard fountain. Her steps suddenly stuttered and her smile faded as she took in the sling around his neck.

Terry rushed to answer the unspoken question. “I’m alright. I was just reorganizing some books in the old man’s library and I fell off the ladder. My shoulder is a bit sore, but I wouldn’t let it stop me.”

Dana reached over and carefully examined along the line of his left arm. “Swear, I can’t leave you alone for a day without something happening.” She muttered. Terry gave her a reassuring grin and she sighed. “C’mon you walking disaster, we’re going on a tour, long overdue.”

She kept to his right and tugged him into the nearest building.

* * *

 

Bruce argued with himself for most of the afternoon. Some signs pointed one way, other clues indicated the opposite. Nobody had been off the grid for 23 years, and aside from one unconfirmed rumor of a daughter…

He refused to entertain any further thoughts along that line. Morgan was a monster. If he’d intended to torment Bruce with that knowledge he would have taunted him in his search or sent evidence of his attacks.

It was not possible.

The old man closed the clock behind him and walked to the kitchen. As Alfred had once told him, “Tea, I find, is most often the best remedy for confusing jobs. And sometimes if you tackle a simple matter, like making a hot beverage, the answer will come to you in ways you never anticipated, Master Bruce.”

* * *

 

Terry took a short sip of his coffee. Dana, in the seat across from him, wrapped her hands around her own cup. “You didn’t mention the majority of orientation was speeches and pep squads.”

“Would you have come if I’d told you?” Her lips twitched.

“If you really insisted.” He sighed and tapped his knuckle lightly on the table. “I still want to go Gotham U, Dana. I’ll always want to spend time with you, and I want to do some good in the world. But right now, I actually think that helping out Wayne will do that.”

Dana reached out and stilled his hand. “I believe you. But don’t let it be consuming. You can be a good person on an everyday level, too.” She flicked a piece of her hair and smiled into her chai tea. “And even ignoring all that, I can’t think of a job that’s worth getting so stressed over.”

* * *

 

Bruce set his mug down, and rest in the chair behind his study desk. After a moment of contemplation he flicked on his basic computer and pulled up some R and D files from Wayne Tech. Admittedly not as simple as making a drink, but distracting enough until he could consider a new lead.

He was half through an old schematic for militarized flight suits when a musical chime resounded on screen. A small text box expanded from the corner. _‘Saw you were online. Just checking in.’_

The electronic address was amusingly named _**EggplantAvenger**_ , the corners of his eyes wrinkled in a way that hinted at humor. He responded.

**‘I’m fine. Is Cassandra with you?’**

_‘Yeah, we took the day off. I’m giving her a crash course in the Princess Bride.’_

**‘Should I be concerned?’**

_‘Only if you plan to play a game of “Find the Poison” with her. She now knows the secret!’_

**‘Are you about done in Hong Kong?’**

_‘Closing in on the leader of a smuggling operation. We will then be in Greece for a few months. Are we required back home?’_

The change in writing style and author was unexpected, but Bruce was touched with a certain pride at Cassandra’s ever growing prowess with verbal and written language.

**‘Maybe. The situation could develop that way, but keep on site with what you’re finishing now. If I need to, I’ll send for you.’**

_‘It could be difficult. Protocol on distance missions is to routinely go dark to avoid signal hacking, yes?’_

Ace, who had been lying to his side for the past hour suddenly sat up. Bruce froze and followed the dog’s line of sight. He saw nothing, but the Great Dane mix stood. Before Bruce could do much more than press a hand to his desk, Ace bolted out the door, baying. His owner hobbled quickly after.

Therein, unnoticed by the man that left, the chat blipped again. ‘ _ **Bluebird**_ is now online’.

* * *

 

“You actually think I will ever have time for a club?” Dana flicked his good arm. They passed a few more displays of after class activities and jobs.

“If not, you might go mad from homework.” She pointed over to a booth decked in streamers. “I’ve been taking gymnastics, you know.”

Terry gaped exaggeratedly. “No. Way. I refuse to believe it. You hated Phys Ed. in high school!”

She rolled her eyes. “I hated running, there’s a difference. And as Gotham U has yet to start a dance group, gymnastics seemed like a fun way to kill time.” She gave him a playful once over. “If you spent less time falling off ladders, you could probably join me.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Was that a compliment?”

She tapped a finger on her lips. “Have you done something to earn it?” When he opened his mouth to banter back, Dana kissed his cheek, slipped his hold and sprinted away.

Dumbfounded, Terry paused just long enough to give her a head start. “I thought you said you hated running!”

She grinned back over her shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’m not good at it!

* * *

 

He found Ace with his head ducked slightly lower than the rest of his body, growling at the bookcase entry to the Batcave. Unsealed for the first time in years, sliding poles revealed. It was a low blow. Alfred had insisted against the library opening since Bruce’s heart started acting up, and now his quickest way in was being used as an insult. The landing pad, assuming whoever came before him hadn’t moved it, should still be at the bottom though. If he was careful…

“Can’t believe I’m doing this.” The old man grumbled before hooking his cane on his sleeve and gripping the steel support. He turned briefly to hold out a hand to Ace. “Stay.”

* * *

 

They eventually ended up having dinner at Mary McGinnis’ home. “It’s always a pleasure to have you, Dana.”

She smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“And you’re a good influence, I’ve been badgering Terry about college for a while now.”

Matt snickered quietly across the table. Terry catapulted a cherry tomato at his forehead. “Mom!”

Mary sighed. “Terry, please.”

“We’ll see you how much you’re laughing when you have to spend 150 credits on a single book.”

Matt sniffed. “Mom says with my grades I can get a scholarship.”

“Why are you guys even talking about that right now?” Terry gaped.

Mary shrugged. “He brought it up, said he was getting bored of his usual classes and wanted to look into dual credit.”

Dana paused in taking a bite of her salad, turning to Terry with a smirk. “See? I have a point.”

Terry held his good hand up in placation. “Surrounded on all sides!” A crouton bounced off his cheek. “Matt!”

Dana dropped her fork in her rush to cover her laugh.

* * *

 

The slide was down to the cave was textbook, but the landing was less steady than he would have liked. The only lights in the cave were the still sustained computer from his earlier research and the bright white glare of the medical lamps.

The figure there didn’t even turn to acknowledge him, rifling through the cabinets and drawers.

The mask had been repaired. “You aren’t supposed to be here.” Bruce said in dry threat.

Nobody extracted a hemostat, examined and then put it in a small case to the side. “Understatement. Just ignore me, I’ll be out of your hair momentarily.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take you at your word. You’ve caused this city a lot of grief.” The older man shifted closer.

“Your commissioner is incompetent. I couldn’t care less about Gotham.”

Bruce took another step. “Ira Billings is dead and you directly attacked Batman-”

“No.” The intruder turned and held his index finger out, ticking it in chastisement. “He isn’t Batman. I’ve fought the real one. I know the real ones. McGinnis is no threat.” He twirled a scalpel deftly in his other hand while he waited for his words to sink in. “And from what I hear, you aren’t anymore either.”

“Who were you expecting to be in the cowl?” The surgical tool stilled.

“I imagine you wanted help. That device Spellbinder had you steal, it was designed primarily to decrease damage to nerve endings in brain and spinal surgeries. He couldn’t have been your first choice.”

“My usual source of medical support has been lost for some time. Billings was only supposed to deal with disabling a part for me, and I would have requested expertise from the dear Dr. Thompkins.” He shrugged. “But death seems to stalk forever, and traitors can get an early shove into its arms if they cross the wrong person.”

Something seemed to crack in Bruce’s eyes. “What did Ducard do to you, Damian?”

The silence was deafening. The newest Nobody reached up, the mask opened, sliding up and back with a hiss and a click. The hiss was a rush of air from the mechanics and the click was from a spot at the base of his neck.

The image was like a darker, younger reflection. He was paler than he’d been, thinner than would ever have been approved of, and the bags under his eyes spoke of more than a few nights spent sleepless. But the blue was as familiar as his own. The frown was mostly the same, too. A snide turn of the lips that spoke of superiority. “Finished dancing around it, then?”

The hand not gripping his cane twitched, as though it longed to reach out and assure himself of this reality. “You’re alive.”

“Surprising I’m sure. Then again, you have been busy. Really, with how long I’ve actually been in the city, I had hoped I’d be noticed before I actively kicked up a fuss. But why expect the impossible, when you barely bothered searching the first time?”

“That’s a lie. Morgan went underground. I searched for years, but there was no trace. Any contract jobs that resembled his, lead only to Slade Wilson.”

“And I suspect he had nothing to say on the matter? Face it, you didn’t try very hard at all did you? Too much to take care of back home, too many problems in keeping me around, and too few ties to make an effort.” His grip on the scalpel tightened.

“That’s enough.”

“He put me through hell. And you never came after me!”

Bruce slid ever closer. “Please, just listen. Everyone was looking, a worldwide Batman Inc. was mobilized, Talia-"

“Shut up!” Damian pulled out a previously opened drawer and threw it at his father. The back pedal necessary to dodge, effectively halted his progress.

“Damian, I-”

“Do you know what White Room torture is? I was trapped for 6 months, I couldn’t remember my mother’s face, and by the end of it I was ready to bash my head against the wall just to see any other color!”

The young man walked around him. “When I was little more than a corpse, Ducard said he would let me out. I still didn’t know where I was, I tried biding my time, I listened to him when he trained me, and any resistance assured I’d be returned to my cell.”

Bruce reached into his pocket, idly thumbing an old batarang, but retaining eye contact. Damian’s gaze becoming more frenzied as he paced. “Sensory deprivation and isolation, there’s no way to adequately train for that, because any practice in preparing for it, is as damaging as the torture itself.” If the older man thought he hated Morgan before, he couldn’t be more wrong. This was absolute disdain, a creeping desire for revenge on the first Nobody. His son’s lips twisted in a mockery of a smile.

“And that wasn’t even the best part. When I was 16, he gave me mask and made sure I could never remove it for very long. You were right to ask who I’d hoped would be wearing the cowl these days, but your familial talents have successfully driven him off too. Now no one can help me, and no one would, because of where you left me to die!”

He could have moved, or he could have deflected. Damian punched him square in the jaw and let him sprawl to the cave floor. Bruce braced himself stiffly on one hand and looked up at the monster that his son was forced to become.

“He’s gone now, but I still hear him! I still have to be him! And it’s all your fault!” A second punch. “I hate you!” A kick to the ribs. “I hate you!” His next fist was caught, a weaker grip than he remembered, but enough to make him pause. “I hate you.” He whispered thickly, eyes burning traitorously.

* * *

 

Terry’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

* * *

 

Bruce fought to keep his breathing steady. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. You deserved better and I should have tried harder, searched longer, I could have brought you home. Instead, I allowed myself to believe that it was impossible for you to have survived.” He moved his hold to Damian’s wrist. “I can still help you now though. Please, tell me about the mask, come upstairs, we’ll fix this.”

And like that, Damian’s expression dulled again. His body language closed and he shook off Bruce’s hand, before stepping over to the computer. “You don’t deserve the hope I was denied.”

“You know, I fought your new protégé because I was curious about his efficacy, but this city is the worst it’s ever been, and I have no intention of staying.” He tapped a few keys, some sort of message flickered to life and shut just as fast. “You wouldn’t help me when you actually had the ability. What type of ignorant fool do you take me for, that I would let myself be tricked into whatever passes for Arkham these days?”

Damian stalked back into the medical bay, to the case he was preparing and snapped it shut. The scalpel was tucked into his sleeve and he picked up a piece of fabric, previously unnoticed, from where it lay beside the box. Black, light blue, and familiar.

Bruce confirmed it with a sidelong glance, the insignia on the front of Nightwing’s suit had been cut out, probably before Damian even bothered with the supplies.

His son knelt down and cocked his head in mock curiosity. “I suppose the only consolation here is how much worse you look. What’s holding you together?” A low humming built in his glove and Damian stood, palm open and facing Bruce. “I wonder how long it would take to tear-”

A deep growl was the only warning before teeth locked around the suit’s circuitry.

* * *

 

The front doors were wide open. From inside, haunting bays shook the foyer. Terry’s sudden entrance only served to startle Ace, who barked hostilely before realizing who had come in. The dog raced full tilt to the study, not even stopping when he came to the clock, instead bouncing off it and adding to an impressive collection of scratches in the wood. Terry barely managed to adjust the hour and minute hands from behind the anxious mass of black fur. The grandfather clock creaked open and Ace didn’t give his young owner any precedence.

Terry ended up jumping more than a few steps, and arriving on scene just in time to see the Great Dane launch himself at an intruder standing over the old man. Small sparks erupted from the figure’s gauntlet and they were knocked bodily backwards, a small case of tools slipping from their grip and scattering across the cave floor. Ace continued to tear into the fabric of the arm, Terry shot to Bruce’s side and tried pulling him up, only for the elder’s legs to give out again.

Everything happened quickly after that, the stranger snapped something in his free hand and held it to Ace’s muzzle. The hound yelped, lost his grip, and dashed backwards shaking his head. A series of pops fired off from the damaged sonics on his suit, and the man ripped his sleeve away. Zigzagging burns lined up his skin. The same eye from their ill-fated battle glared through Terry, this time joined by its twin.

Terry regretted his rush mentality, his contact panic from Ace had him running in maskless, though by the looks of things it was a theme down here. The pinning gaze swiveled to his mentor.

Ace’s discomfort appeared mostly superficial, the mix unable to focus with his sense of smell upset. Bruce was in considerably worse shape, but at least able to break the silence. “Activate Quarantine, passcode: Robin.” A barely audible ringing started, and that was all it took for Nobody to break for the lower levels of the cave.

The old man pushed himself from Terry’s grip and stumbled desperately towards an evidence table. “Stop him!”

Something caused the intruder to hesitate in his steps, something on the ground which he went out of his way to scoop up in his sprint, and that was all the opening Batman needed. Around them, metal walls began careening into place to lock down the area. Bruce flicked out an old batarang, which nicked the stranger’s leg and knocked him off balance, Terry tackled him bodily to the cement.

Nobody flicked his still covered wrist and a scalpel slid out from his sleeve, which he turned on his captor, Terry jerked his head back to avoid the slash. Another wall fell, the young man brought his knee up into Terry’s stomach and in the air lost by the move he managed another foot or so of space to the edge of the floor.

Looking back he could see the car lot and cave waters below, looking up he could see the next lock crashing down. He rolled to the side, dodging the crushing weight, and jumped down.

Terry followed directly after, trying to catch Nobody mid-fall. Bruce hobbled to the emergency elevator. Their target pitched when he reached the lot to disperse the force of landing. When he came to a stop, the man teetered to his feet.

* * *

 

Bruce reached them then. Terry let his glide wings carry him safely to the ground. Damian was shakenly standing. Something besides the fall seemed to be affecting him now. Up above they could all hear the last quarantine wall lock into place, the low alarm blaring distantly, and Ace incensed at being alone again.

Damian stumbled toward the lot overhang where both he and Bruce knew he could make good on his escape. Though to what end was anyone’s guess. Terry and Bruce doubled up on his space, covertly trying to direct the tired man away from his goal. When the newest Batman was within a few feet, Damian spun around, and leveled an exhausted stare at his father.

“Call him off.” He ordered.

Before Bruce could say a word, Terry cut across. “What? You’re dangerous, man. No one’s letting you go anywhere.” He took a step closer and Damian rocked back one in response.

Bruce held out a hand in placation, seeking to make him see reason. “You will _die_ out there. Think about this, please, for once in your life. What happened can’t be changed, but you don’t have to keep going.”

When he saw Terry shift again, Damian lifted the scalpel he’d somehow maintained hold of… to his own throat. “Call. Him. Off.” He pressed the blade in lightly, just enough to bite the skin. He took two more steps back.

His father folded. “Terry.”

“Are you kidding? We can’t just-” His protégé shot him a look from the corner of his eyes, before quickly honing in on his son again.

“He’s not leaving. We’re going to deal with this now, sensibly.”

He should have expected it, both of them were too headstrong.

All it took was for Terry to twitch in his direction, Damian’s hand, the one still gripping the Nightwing insignia, shot up. His mask slid back down, Batman leapt at him and Nobody fell far into the dark cave waters.

Terry made a swipe for him and only Bruce’s quick arm pulled the young hero back onto the lot in time to avoid the rust-stained surgical knife flung at his carotid in parting gesture.

The splash below echoed sharply, building on the other chaos upstairs and mocking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in other news my computer blew up, so after an inordinate amount of time trying to get my files back I just decided to try and rewrite them. Sorry for the wait.


	6. Blood Son

Terry flung off Bruce’s restraining headlock. “I’m done with your dodges, old man! This is beyond dangerous, and I’m sick of it!”

“I can still handle this.” His teacher wouldn’t hold his gaze, which was almost enough to unsettle Terry’s nerves, but the blatant disregard only brought his rage back to the surface.

He bunched Bruce’s collar up to force them face to face. “He got in the cave! He didn’t trip a single alarm, and he was ready and waiting to kill you! I don’t know what your hang up is, but if I’m going to be risking my life day in and out then I have a right to be in the loop!”

Bruce pushed him back stiffly. He tiredly held a hand to his mouth, like he was trying to keep in words that slipped out regardless of his will. “He was a Robin.”

That somewhat threw the younger man. “What? How? Why is it every time I get a straight answer from you, it only leaves me with more questions?!”

Bruce carried on undaunted. With a slow progression he gestured Terry to follow him back to the upper cavern. “I was telling you the truth before. Robin and I were unable to capture Morgan Ducard, at first. When we arrived home, I wouldn’t tell him about my history with Nobody-”

“A habit that’s hard to break?” Terry felt the irony pertinent to add.

The old man side eyed him, but answered nonetheless. “Evidently, he felt the same as you. Robin attempted to trick Nobody into believing he defected, when he tried to halt Morgan’s plan, he was tortured.” The doors of the elevator closed and it began to ascend. “Ducard took his emblem and told me every detail of his actions while I traced their whereabouts. When I finally breached his hideout, Nobody and Robin had vanished. What he’s been through all these years… it’s warped him.”

Terry’s eyes flicked slightly as he processed. “Wait, you never told me his-”

The elevator opened to the upper levels, quiet again. Bruce stared him down. “The alarms weren’t activated, how did you know to come here?”

“Got a text.” He answered with a smug vagueness reflecting his mentor’s earlier tone. “But I’m not the one on the stand right now. Forgive my bluntness, but I’ve only met three former Robins and at least two of them hate your guts right now. The papers were always pretty iffy on exactly how many sidekicks followed you around, so who is this one?”

“His name was Damian.” Bruce declared with unusually little fuss. “I took him in when Talia was having trouble with the League of Assassins.”

It was to some shock and pride when Terry didn’t even flinch at the words or take any time to process before pressing him again. “He was an al Ghul? Why would she trust him with you?”

“He _was_ an al Ghul. She knew I had a problem with letting children wander unsupervised.” His lips quirked briefly and his eyes swam with some long past memory of a boy looking at him with the most unimpressed expression and declaring that he was less than what he’d been built up to be. ”She wanted me to train him, but we didn’t get along and I couldn’t quite get through to him. I went missing for some time after that. And Dick took the cowl for a while.”

Terry raised an eyebrow making a mental note to have Max go looking for more information on this shift in responsibilities. “He wasn’t an al Ghul when you got back. Joined the Wayne family like everyone else, huh?”

“Not exactly.” The old man thought of how his last Robin followed after a smiling Batman, wholly separated from himself regardless of his presence in the cave. “They all thought I was dead. It fractured a relationship that I never had the chance to repair before he was taken. I wanted to fix this myself, because it is my fault Nobody kidnapped him in the first place. I hoped it wasn’t him.”

Terry addressed him quietly. “You know he’s dangerous, right?” He stared evenly at his mentor. “This isn’t just a temper tantrum and he’s not exactly willing to back off. He’s clearly capable of killing and even if you could catch him, what do you think you can do?”

The honest answer was to bring him home, but Bruce had not hung in the game for so long to bend to these emotions against all logic. The familiarity of those frenzied blue eyes pierced his mind. “I’ll help him.”

* * *

 

Max’s space was a far cry from the old clock tower of the original Oracle. Small and hidden in plain sight. No, her headquarters comprised the top three floors of the long abandoned Gotham Gazette building. Situated on the frayed edges of Old Gotham, the ruined structure looked beyond repair outside, too broken down to be safe for even the most daring of Jokerz. Entering from below was rife with pitfalls of rotted wood and unstable ceilings. Clever traps in the guise of useless architecture. Trying to touch the top floors led to the spontaneous shorting of any inferior tech. Though inferior was pretty much anything Oracle didn't dabble in. Max’s large room was essentially floating on electromagnetism just over the real crumbling building.

The inside was awash in screens of green codes. Holo-emitters projected the vast blackness of space dotted with stars above a web of wiring. Hovering in the center of the design was a chair fitted to neutrally link Max into nearly every computer of Superhero importance and appear as a specter of ones and zeros, which she used to frequently check in on the Batcave in lieu of being physically present.

But below all this intricate tech and responsibility was an apartment. Nothing too grand, all the utilities plus a game room. Upon being allowed in, Terry found her in the living room. Lying sideways on an old purple couch with a leg propped up against the back cushion and a basic laptop on her stomach. She ruffled her pink hair in thought.

Terry dropped himself on the floor, back to her position and craned his neck to gauge her face. “New puzzle?”

“Mr. Drake hasn’t lost his touch.” She replied without blinking, as though the brief lapse in her attention from the screen would result in the encrypted program evolving into an A.I. capable of eating itself. Which come to think of it, was not implausible. It was something of a game the two developed, locking a paused virtual chess match behind increasingly complicated coding and trading it back and forth for their opponent to crack before they could make their moves.

“Got a few minutes to spare?”

Max made some adjustments to the code before closing it down and accessing her personal Super-records. They were largely compiled from old Watchtower profiles and a long history of news articles from Gotham to Star City. Hardly comprehensive, but a solid start. “Ready when you are.”

“The old man told me that Nobody was a former Robin he took in, named Damian. I need to know if there is any public evidence that he was ever introduced as a member of the Wayne family.”

It took more time than Terry was used to from her but Max eventually raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her computer screen. “If the press caught sight of him at all they never got a concrete answer before he vanished from the spotlight.” She turned the device so he could glance at a few hammy tabloids with attention grabbing headlines of Gotham’s socialites. “My guess is he probably spent more time as Robin than Damian, but there was speculation that Mr. Wayne finally had a blood son somewhere on the manor grounds. The problem is, that happened just about every time he adopted.”

“He told me there was a point where Mr. Grayson was serving as Batman and that Damian was his Robin. Let’s work back from there, find the time where the Dynamic Duo were notably different and then cross reference that with whatever came up on the Wayne side of things.”

She reversed the screen and resumed her search. This took even longer than before and Terry felt his anxious energy manifest in his foot tapping reflexively against the floor. Max reached over and tugged his ear. “Take a nap. I can tell when you’re wound up, and if you keep agitating yourself and me I’m going to have to boot you out until I’m done.”

“I’m fine.” He winced when she gave his earlobe another pull and waved off her grip in irritation.

“No,” She shot him a disapproving stare. “You have been going practically non-stop for the last few months, even before all of this. You are tired, and I can only work so fast. So, stop acting like him and get a sandwich, get some sleep, and talk to me when I can’t trace two bags under each eye.”

He felt like arguing, but he knew she was right. It wouldn’t do for him to fall over at the next emergency. He stood up and strolled to her kitchen, determined to make her groceries pay for being ordered around like a kid.

* * *

 

_He could almost believe it when Grayson called their nightly activities ‘flying’. It was completely frivolous of course, but that was to be expected of the smiling Batman by now._

_“Think of it as a training exercise!” He chirped in response to the criticism. “How high can you get from a dive and glide? I bet you can’t beat my record.”_

_"I fail to see how this is useful.”_

_Grayson laughed again. “The farther you are from the ground, the more surprising it is when you swoop down. We are the night, remember?” He said, donning that poor imitation of his father’s voice again._

_“-Tt-”_

_The man drummed his fingers against his thigh in thought. “Tell you what, you indulge me this once and if you still don’t think it works, then I’ll let you use your katana when we spar tomorrow.”_

_It would be appealing to use his old weapon again, even if only for a little while, but… “No, if I play along with your insipid challenge, I want to learn how to use your escrima sticks.” He thought for sure Grayson would take it poorly, call him a usurping brat or something equally antagonistic._

_Instead, he paused… and then looked proud? “I’m glad you’re giving some other toys a try for a change. We can make you your own pair if you want.”_

_The words he prepared to spit in response faltered as the conversation deflated in tone. “Forget it.” He mumbled._

_Grayson tapped his shoulder, redirecting his turned away gaze. And then he took a running leap off the top of Wayne Tower and with a snap of his cape rose above Robin again._

* * *

 

Terry snorted awake three hours later. Max sent him a concerned glance from the other end of the living room.

Terry yawned, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. “Any pictures of him?”

“Mostly amateur. But I did find one of a kid hanging out with Dick Grayson shortly after the cowl traded ownership. Black hair, blue eyes, typical family traits. Most people thought it was a photo shopped shot of Tim Drake.”

“Pull it up real quick?” The frame was a bit hazy at the edges, caught in a moment that insinuated the photographer was forced to make a run for it soon after. The younger of the two in the picture had turned to see the shutter, his face the exact archetype of royal indignity while behind him was Dick Grayson, smiling benignly. He had a hand on the boy’s shoulder, just barely secure enough to be called a grip, but there was no doubt the kid could slip away if he wanted. It probably said enough that the photographer got to post his picture.

“Well I can see where those rumors came from, kid looks similar to the old man.” Max commented.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Max, I might be missing something, but they all look similar to the old man. He practically surrounded himself with clones if I’m being honest.” He even gave his face a wave of exasperation.

Max swatted his head lightly. “Not that, dummy.” She drew her finger around the kid’s nose, ears, forehead, and cheekbones. A line traced after her touch. “His facial structure is damn uncanny. Mr. Grayson isn’t similar like that.” She summoned up an old photo of Bruce at the Wayne Gala and traced the same areas. Side by side it was more obvious. “The shape of the eyes is different, but everything else is pretty close. You said he was an Al Ghul, so we can probably presume-”

“Talia.” Terry shivered. “Why would he ever try to start something with a villainess? I’m pretty sure it’s rule one in the book!” He rubbed his temples, feeling an oncoming headache.

“Could you say the same of a villainess?”

“Stop being philosophical, I’m trying to figure out how to bring this up without also losing my lunch.”

Max patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I think you need back-up.”

* * *

 

It was a late night, something he’d been used to for a while, but no more welcome than when the practice was new. Dick Grayson sipped at some sugar-laden coffee. His phone buzzed on the table.


End file.
